The Diamond Island

This is the last post you have been waiting for.

There was a commenter five years ago who asked me what this was all leading up to. Good question! As if I knew.

It’s been leading up to this. I started this blog with the intention of it being a creative writing outlet for me that other people would find interesting. However, the traffic on this blog has been nearly non-existent for five years.

I have little sense of the energy people find in what I do here.

I can do creative writing without having to post it in public, so I’m going to retreat to the innermost sanctum of my workshop and do the labor there.

There will still be stuff. This is the Transmutation phase. That means I’m changing the way I do things here. What I will likely focus on are reviews and the occasional episode of some kind of artistic creation I put out. I’m going to change the format and design of this website in a little while.

What brought about this change in attitude?

About a year and a half ago I felt the website had done all the work it was going to do for me. I’ve been working on thoughts and prayers that might help me figure out what comes next. All while I was going on the biggest adventure of my entire life.

That adventure is now done.

I have plucked the onion from the ashes of the Gingerbread Witch Spider and received the treasures within.

I am just myself.

For a long while I’ve been seeking an experience of The Diamond Island. That is, a mountain peak that exists within my inner world. Now I see that I’m already on the mountain. The things I was looking at were reflections of what was already there.

The black hole through space is a journey through the maelstrom of destruction, where what is true comes out the other side to a new existence. In the process many things are redeemed and made clear.

I’ve been fighting my ass off, struggling with opponents much stronger than I think I am. Both personal and collective engagements with the realities of my life, with different obstacle courses and challenges to pass through and overcome.

There are mysterious sources of power within myself I don’t fully understand. Yet somehow they come through for me, get me to the next pit stop and show me ways to push the limits of my being when I feel I haven’t any more to put into the work.

I’m listening to the personalities that help me run this psychic mechanism I use to get myself through the world. I have a lot of work to do there—people are unhappy with some of the stances I’ve taken and the way I go about things.

I don’t know where the UFO will land, other than home. Part of the stress I feel is in not knowing how things will end up, as the process is very much a push and pull in multiple directions at once. It will lead things to the right path, but it’s just one of those things you can’t predict until it happens.

Going over how to make things that are important to me now that I’m ready. Lucerna’s Mother-Mary-Personal-Helper training has given me something to focus on. Music helps me understand, but the practice is going to be a long one.

Out of the sea comes a nourishing goblet. Learning to drink from this source of refreshment, cultivate myself before I can encourage others.

I see that I do have an effect on the world around me. The places I find are brought out of myself. The things that move or are demolished are of a mind from me. Maybe they were messed up? Maybe things that reappear are okay now? The things I find will not be wrong.

The humming of bees, the helping of bees, the signs that bees are coming to the forefront of consciousness. This is important stuff.

The realization that the land inside me needs a brute conqueror king to bring the bounty out. My self image doesn’t like this figure, yet I manifest him anyway regardless of my hang-ups. To resist is only to become dishonest and incompetent.

A revelation of my personal destiny comes into view, right in front of me all this time. The signposts and helpers were there in abundance showing me the way: Imagination, family, and masculinity are the core of my being.

Movement and non-movement are also a part of this. I need to become more physical in my activity so that I can be at rest more wholly. A king needs a traveling the realm meditation to do his work properly. I must have been blind not to see this, yet again it happened with or without my knowledge. Better for me to see it now and make it a part of my conscious life.

I’m saying yes to many many things. I’m also learning to say fuck off to a lot of things I don’t need anymore.

The posts have been scant of late mainly because I’ve been embroiled in the Battle of the Galaxies. Anything that shows up here has been what extra my psychic engineer has been able to coax out of the warp engines, so to speak.

This has been one Hek of an inner-stellar conflict. The entirety of the Booey Fleet versus the forces of the Gingerbread Witch. Several times now I was sure I’d been beat, only to bounce back into the fray with a renewed process.

I’ve been building a brick wall of the mind, followed by a brick oven of the windy spirit with which to throw that Gingerbread Witch into. I found suitable divine fuel in the form of the bountiful Ace of Wands bursting forth with Spring luck and potency. I’m going to blast that witch into ashes and smoke with healing fire ignited from my deepest soul.

That’s all I’m capable of doing now. It’s the only way to live my life and let those who love me live theirs. Everything else I tried bounced off her like dynamite or missile explosions against the giant tarantula. A psychic napalm of lava-storm is all I got left.

Kicked that Gingerbread Witch into the oven and I’ve shut the hatch! I never wanted to do this, but here I go. It’s time.

There is a flash of lightning, followed by the boom of thunder. The brick oven fire is ignited!

Here we go.

Got a message on the backdoor answering machine at the root of my brainstem the other night.

There are times when I’m not in the mood to sleep at night. I’m of a willful disposition needing to be up late enjoying the night state of consciousness.

Coyotes are out in the treehouse ravine a-howling. They’re letting me know they found another snack to tide them over this strange and meager winter.

After a long series of sleepless nights I decide to answer the damn message. While the Dark Goddess can reach me anywhere and anytime, I remember I’m back in the stomping grounds of old. That place where my state of mind first opened up to her interests and my deepest longing to see what her interests were about.

All I have to do is touch the curve of her hip and ideas spring into being. She shows me how to form them into expression. My passion thrills and seizes me with an ecstasy I can scarce describe.

I dial her up to see what’s going on. Maybe there’s something she needs me to know about. It’s like having a super-powered hero hotline; except I never feel any heroic confidence and faking it feels like ripping off the audience, or the world. Maybe that’s how super-powered heroes really feel?

We talk about how weird it is to be back in a place where I would roam the night at all hours while most people were asleep, waiting to rise from their coffins to work off their debts. Did I really walk around in a sober daze, imagining fantastical visions and destroying hostile creatures of the night like Buffy the Vampire Slayer?

I hadn’t even heard of Buffy yet, much less seen her show. That would be many years into the future. Hek, the movie wasn’t even out yet.

Is that part of the reason the system curfews youngsters? To keep them from unconsciously patrolling their homes against the invaders from the unconscious? People are scared of teenagers who might harm them because they don’t have the same understanding of the rules, but maybe if these teens got to live the darkness of the night they would build up strength and discover their amazing powers to serve our deep need for help.

The Dark Goddess laughs.

I ask her what’s up. She says this is the greatest battle for my soul I have ever known. To protect the goddess from one’s own worst malfunctions takes enormous self-knowledge and strength. I am doing this for Shiva to help him reach a goal of being able to recognize my efforts.

She reminds me that this is where I lost my backpack. I remember when she gave it back to me. I didn’t realize this is where I left it, but this place would be the sort of environment where I would have left a thing or two of value to me. When we bail, we don’t always have time to grab everything. Things get dropped in the rout.

She whispers in my ear to follow my inner wisdom. Stay true to yourself, she says.

Her teachings come back to me from those heady days of wild passion and fearless wandering: When she showed me secrets of the body she was teaching me to pay attention. When she had me worship her beauty on my knees she was helping me know humility. When we shared thoughts and feelings I let her spirit into my flesh. I am one with her.

You can still fly, she says. I know what she means and she’s telling the truth.

That’s what she wanted to tell me, she says. Then she hangs up. That’s just how she is.

I haven’t done a menagerie daily life post in a while, so guess what? Menagerie!

The Battle of the Galaxies, my catch-phrase for the crazy adventure both psychic and non-psychic in which I find myself, continues on. Killer bees, patrol fighters, special assistance cruisers, attack armor, and mega-units. All sorts of constructs are assisting me in the battle.

Plus, I have numerous friends galore helping out with the assist. The famous fifty; love to ya’ll and shout out holler of respect! Hey, every ship and every thought transmission counts here.

The thing about PDX is that it’s essentially a gingerbread house populated by a gigantic witch energy being. All the groovy and delicious wonders of the land are yours to partake of, but you got to give a pound of flesh to the witch first. That means a bloodsucking freak pipeline to your wallet as well as your state of mind.

And holy crumbcake is this entity hungry!

I’ve been busy though, and I haven’t missed much. Figured out who the backstabbers are. Got a handle on how to get help if I need it from the most unlikely of locales. And I even have a plan now that I’ve got an idea of what to focus on and what to ignore.

If nothing else the battle has been worth the trouble because of what I’ve recovered from the past and recognized in the present. This is huge. That frees up energy I hadn’t even known was blocked. It sets me free to do things I hadn’t thought possible. The hold has got some loot I didn’t expect.

I’m whole.

But even though I’m doing everything possible, leaving no option off the table in my battle plan, ultimately I’m at the mercy of luck. This is one of those crazy and courageous ventures you make because you need to, not because it makes sense or is even a sane thing to do.

That gingerbread witch is a large collective entity that needs healing on a massive scale. I’m going all out with maximum warp AND shields, but while she’s taken some hilarious point blank pranks that witch is still ready to party.

It isn’t just me. K has noticed it too and is a little surprised at this plot twist. I see others struggling against the gingerbread witch of PDX as well: regular shakedowns of their live brains and ducats. That battle-ax doesn’t jack everyone exactly the same, but the fear is still there at the base of their spines.

Things are certainly looking bleak, but I still have a few surprises up my sleeves. If I can’t do this now then I could never have done it, and yet I believe now I was correct many years ago in my initial approach to the battle. I just didn’t have enough strength back then. Maybe I don’t even now. But right now anything goes. Watch out!

In the meantime, I’m mining for gold and doing my work despite the duh-buddies, draguloids, and hidden units. My purpose is still the same: To do what I’m meant to do while I’m alive, for the sake of all beings.

I understand that I’m being vague here. It’s hard to be clearer and more accessible when things are so difficult and all-at-once. I’m in the middle of things and doing tremendous work in the realm of the mysterious.

Then again, maybe the point isn’t to defeat the gingerbread witch physically and psychically, or even affect her such that she stops jacking people who live here. By stealing back what was mine, I’ve outwitted her and she can never forget it was me who tricked her.

And just like that, I won.

A while ago I decided to explore my own Tomb of Horrors, thanks to some helpful exposure osmosis insights from my trusty Chimera friend Shanna Mann. After some meandering about with various ingredients I am starting to build a formula of exploration.

I was going to put out an ad for a psychological being to handle the specifics, but this dude came knocking at my door as soon as the commitment formed in my brain. After some dialogue of a sort using mysterious hand signals and lip reading apparatus I believe we have come to an accord.

We’ve leased some imaginary property from a psychic patron in a settlement suitable for our needs. I had no idea such a town was located near the Diamond Island! Hidden treasures everywhere you look, if you see with the eyes of joy.

Of course, the inhabitants are going to be mighty surprised to see all this sudden activity in their accustomed unconscious existence. What can I say, I am shining a candle in my own individual way and this is where it has led me. There may be benefits as well as difficulty.

I have decided to explore, through the exploits of my new found friend, the role of horror host. He will be doing this in his own particular way, according to his own individual stance. I will, of course, be responsible for his actions as his conscious manager.

To this effect I have created a secret door to our mutual venture. The password will be most easily obtained by those with the secret decoder wheel, which is part of my Sooper Fun Pak currently only available on my Facebook fan page. by request.

So stay tuned for more tidbits, and if you are one of the fortunate folks to have a password wheel at your disposal (or have a small microchip brain for ciphers) you may be entertained!

As the horror host transformation does its thing, all sorts of interesting sources of civilization are cropping up and showing us what they got. The Vortexx is certainly a formula worth studying, as they have managed to get quite a few things mixed into the creativity cauldron nicely.

There’s the Internet interface of a movie-based show under control of the hosts brought together by fate to make interesting stuff. Promos, old commercials, monster movies and horror host performances—this is where you start.

Then there’s the chat on the side. You can just lurk if you don’t want to get to know anybody. Everyone’s got the right to be a ghost if they wanna stay secret. Or you can jump in and become acquainted with all the weirdos and creatures out there gathered around a scary campfire for a good time.

Hey, it’s a party and it’s random. Enter at your own risk, just like a real life haunted house experience.

What really makes or breaks the experience though is the non-host contingent and the crowd they attract. You totally need a tight cast of characters or the shows won’t amount to much as they are unveiled.

You’ve got far-out characters like the Crimson Executioner, a deranged torturer dispensing all manner of innuendos and witty quips while pushing jars of his royal jelly. Part charlatan, part Addams Family wicked joy, and part deviant with a passion for entertainment and a mind of courteous surprises—this apparition with a perfect body is far out, man!

There’s DoktorSick, a fiendish high tech experimenter with an electronic eye for captivating clips and disturbing juxtapositions. Yet behind that fevered mask of skeletal cyborg mayhem pulses a brain capable of creative insights with sophisticated impact.

You’ll find Jason “Egg” Brown, a soft-spoken lunatic curator of the forgotten and dusty circuits of the Internet, pushing arcane dials and adjusting human spines to keep the show live as a wire.

Then there’s Sluggo, arguably the crown jewel and mascot of the Vortexx crew, an inter-dimensional pink slug with eyestalks inspiring a tidy ship and dispensing random blessings of outrageous character. Sluggo welcomes everyone and declares the spirit of friendship to all comers.

The line up is always changing. Hey this is vaudeville folks; blink and you miss the rotating walls and trap doors swallowing up people behind you. That’s kind of the theme: the Vortexx as a locale that is both a central gathering point and an unstable dimensional hodgepodge.

The weekly alternating schedule looks like this:

• Monday you’ll find yourself entertained by the inestimable Dr. Sigmund Zoid and his bag of Alternative Realities.
• Tuesday brings you the momentous Mr. Mephisto from Lenny’s Inferno or the fathomless green Freakshow from the Bordello of Horror.
• Wednesday has the insightful yet skeletal Nigel Honeybone from the Schlocky Horror Picture Show or a disturbing chuckle or three courtesy of The Host from Screaming Horror Theater.
• Thursday summons forth the indescribably bizarre Justy Ghost from Shocking Theater.
• Friday blasts off with Demented Drive In Theater and the crack horror crew of Floyd Cadaverous, Nurse Evilynn, Kenny Wickman and Grandpa Larry—or Fright Night Theater hosted by the gotta-see-him-to-believe-him Pumpkin Man.
• Saturday winds up the week with the Late Dr. Lady Show, hosted by the brilliant David Lady and his steadfast band of Laura Lady, Ilean, and Wolfie.

Random spin-the-bottle bonus appearances include the Ghoul Kids and their Undead Show, Riggor Mortiss and Nyte Angel from Riggor Mortiss Presents, Scarewolf doing some Saturday Fright Special, and freaky shorts courtesy of Shocko the Clown.

I’m pretty sure the non-host units keep a few special surprises stashed away, and they are always generating new ammunition to load your brain cells with. For example, the inventive Rizzle MaNizzle the Clown once prank called Crimson Executioner and turned it into a short on the show! Unscripted improv right before your very eyes.

So you hop on over to the website, fiddle with the chat interface to get your nick and text color set, and watch movies that epitomize the greatest attempts at self-civilization since Aristotle, all with a bunch of strangers who slowly begin to take shape as not just horrific creatures of all kinds but also family of the heart.

You better watch out or you might have some fun!

I ran into a whirlwind chimera the other day.  I invited her to sit down for a spot of refreshment and we got to talking about some of the systems of doom we were working on.

She’s the sort of adventurer who works with Chaos magic and prefers to storm the walls of challenges with a sharp sword and a little surprise cleverness.  You know, the random encounter table does come up with some interesting unique beings when you roll double-ohs.

We swap stories and techniques, and then I get to thinking that since she might be on to something with this direct, full on warrior vitality, maybe I could stand to learn a thing or two about taking action.

Sure, sure, I’ve read all about it and have a good grounding in the theoretical principles.  I’ve taken a few tumbles in the school of sword swinging through active and immediate striking against obstacles to certain kinds of experience.

But you know, the fact is I go with the flow a lot of time, and find all those people out there taking action non-stop a little confusing.  How can they waste so much energy moving decisively?  Then again, I understand I must do the same to them–how can anybody waste so much time doing nothing?

So as of now, I’m taking action on something that’s been rising to a boil in my brain. That’s going to be my technique for practicing a larger field of experiencing another side of me that’s been coming to the forefront of consciousness lately.

In Dungeons and Dragons, the Tomb of Horrors was an adventure module known for the sheer number and interconnectedness of its many traps, tricks and puzzles. The module was sheer death and destruction for any adventuring party that attempted to reach the central tomb, where a monstrously powerful spirit dwelled among a pile of treasure.

Well, it’s another name for the super death trap maze a part of me built in my psyche to hold some of my treasure.

So how will I go about evading or disarming the traps, defeating the tricks, and solving the puzzles–especially since I am woefully poor at such things?  I shall draw them out of me and transform them into items of art for my own amusement!

And as I do so I shall glean small insights into, and experience of, the nature of an important aspect of me.

Stay tuned, wayfarers!

I’ve gone on about the Count before, and it’s no secret that I admire what that undead dude does for the sake of civilization. This time, I’m going to go way out there and let people know what I’m all about.

There’s this DVD that came out, known by the illustrious title of Every Other Day Is Halloween. Basically, the changeable and fantastically talented core of which Count Gore is but one manifestation—near as I can tell an ordinary human being known as Dick Dyszel—is admitting the passage of time in order to let his story be told.

The movie on this disc tells the story of how Mr. Dyszel found himself a central figure in a local broadcast station, playing several inspired characters, before the forces of mediacrity moved in and demanded tribute in the form of the bottom line.

Along the way, you see how Mr. Dyszel inspired people with his individual and honest outlook, as personified by the characters he played and the shows he hosted—Bozo the Clown, Captain 20, and Count Gore De Vol.

Certainly, there are other folks behind the scenes who contributed to this outburst of creative depiction on local programming. And the spirit of the seventies no doubt played a part in what locals in the Washington DC area remember fondly as “better times”.

Peak times to be sure, and total respect to the unsung efforts of those who get things done, but it always starts with an individual carrying a vision, or a talent, or a way of existing in space-time that shows us what we have lost.  How to adjust our course and return to ourselves.  The true genius constellates those talents and circumstances necessary for raising our consciousness.

So what experience do you get when you buy into this examination of an inspired man’s exploration of himself for the betterment of the community?  Quite a lot, actually.  Though, with any localized phenomenon, there are going to be experiences that only those who lived through it will get.

However!  Keep in mind that the treasures waiting to be discovered are in and of themselves examples of the finest art and of inestimable value to those who seek insight.  Surprises and secrets await those who quest with an open heart, who can hear what has gone before and dare to recreate what may yet be again.

The cover itself is an enigma easily dismissed as an attempt to downplay the contents—Count Gore presenting a can of steaming offal and garbage, while caricatures of other horror hosts float around the vapors with comical expressions. Horror hosts have often hidden behind a veil of humor in order to make their performance less threatening and more acceptable to societal antibodies.  This is activism at the base—always speak in the terms familiar with the audience you find yourself before on any given show.

Look more closely though, past the sadness that is self-depreciation and see the truth behind the images. One has only to know that in many fairy tales it is the worthless thing—the junk—that one finds the most important things of all.

If the hosts are masked in humor, one has only to know that we the audience are always the biggest joke of all.  In that realization there is humanity and redemption—the host always throws us the viewer back upon ourselves to realize the awesome horror and painful glory of being alive.

Opening the case, one cracks open a casket of horrors, yet also proclaims that they live! Passing beyond the threshold, one finds a Channel 20 Club card amongst the expected insert and disc. Yes, there is something of the child in all of us who desire to belong to wonders great and beautiful.  In the local DC area programming of Channel 20, such cards were a visible sign of divine power and a reassurance that magic was abundant.

That the coprorate centers of power regularly co-op such toys of civilized play to encourage “loyalty” to mechanized food outlets is proof of their inherent inventiveness.  Artists, entertainers, and magicians all know the way to reclaim such treats, for is not the card part of the trickery that conceals the true magic in the mind? Beyond a doubt, Captain 20 knew the card trick to remind us how such small things matter.

The disc itself contains the movie, and a veritable infectious fungal colony of extras.  Most of these will be of easiest value to those who remember. Yet pay attention and you will see how improvisational television programs work. How character and setting contribute to situation even in a fluid dynamic such as a studio for viewers.

Variety acts thrive on this sort of transformation—commercials, contests and cartoon blocks are mere forms to be molded and rearranged at will.  Green muppet mutants, friendly adults dispensing worthy advice from the heart, or showing manga style programs way before the mainstream caught on—these are the stuff of which legends are made manifest.  Do we not save the world as audience when we remember ourselves, or as performer when we remind others with our smoke and mirrors of the human spirit?

The movie itself contains a story of an intrepid entertainer’s journey from rough ore to final realization.  What strikes me most is how grounded and ordinary Mr. Dyszel appears. One can almost see the grandiose and unstoppable force of his shadow as personified by Count Gore De Vol lurking in the background.

Is that not the supreme mystery and absurd irony of our times?  That only in the nicest and most unassuming of men could a creative force arise to spark the flames of a thousand and one hearts?

When one is confronted with the simplicity and utter banality of a sock puppet wearing a chef’s hat speaking kitchen wisdom to us with the utmost sincerity, do we not believe?  It speaks volumes for the depths of our own souls, whether we respond with kindness and smiles or turn away in revulsion.

Pity those who see only the surface and not the invention of a lone soul progressing his art beyond a mere tool.  They are the unfortunates consigned to make programming decisions from a vast distance.

Another key point worth noting is how the story progresses into the horror host phenomenon.  This is where Mr. Dyszel fumble-foots into a trove of glittering gemstones and becomes part of a signifier for a deeply relevant art form’s transmutation.

Exiled from mainstream television, only to return and finally be banished again, Mr. Dyszel would seem too nice to survive such a crushing blow as the loss of all he held dear—the beloved figurehead of a local television station yanked from the stage, how contemptable!   Nevertheless, Mr. Dyszel continued his exploration and found in himself the ability to manifest studio in a backpack.

As a result, Count Gore spread his creative power into the Internet, and now no longer needs the station to transmit.  Vanquish the shadow, and he returns again in a new form requiring that we reckon with him once more.  We cannot escape ourselves!

The Internet allows everyone and anyone to be both host and audience, without the coercion and repression one finds in the structure of an impersonal system of power.  Such an environment is a natural breeding ground and salon for a revivification of what can only be termed a capsule of catharsis through the ceremonial experience of violation.

Mr. Dyszel’s successful exploration of the ideas within his passionate being speaks for itself.  To invent his own show regardless of the trauma and set himself firmly at the next foundation of where all culture will be transmitted in the future?

It is nothing less than stunning.

The movie ends with the closing of a former door and the opening of a new portal to worlds undreamed of.  It’s a whole new shared creative space.  One might say the monster not only survived, but lived to help spread the horror of a profound mystery to those who will come after us.

The horror host movement seems poised at the edge of a vast unmarked frontier.  What the practitioner-audience hybrid will make of it is hard to say—anything goes now.  There’s enough history now to form an idea of how things work out of countless trailblazed innovations.  The reactions of those who are themselves following personal visions as hosts are worth studying.

For example, I see in the easygoing testimony of Jerry Moore—who manifests as the outrageous Karlos Borloff—an affection for what Mr. Dyszel has accomplished.  He gained strength from the things he learned by experiencing himself at play with Count Gore on the tell-a-vision.

It’s enough to make me believe that the medium of late night horror shows not only has returned in a renewed form, but in a sense is better than ever before.  One has only to see the de-atomization of the community and the rapid sharing of ideas to see a strange solidarity emerging.

An ancient form of performance taking shape before our very eyes. Watch the movie and learn how profound changes in the world transform the way we experience ourselves as people. That we should owe our very life and soul to a vampire as channeled by a wandering artist of great destiny is truly a miracle of the age.

The key question is: “Did he meant to do that?”  Was it part of the act, this death-defying leap into the future? Before you can stop thinking again, the Count is before you, telling a horrible joke to bring it all back around again.